The Apprentice job
by Jente Bidernais
Summary: "This was not what she had envisioned when Nate had told her that they would bring liberty and human rights to America.She had imagined arms, overthrowing government, hell, even protest marches, but she had not ever imagined press-ups."
1. prologue

**First things first: this is the very first leverage fanfic. I write. I'm still figuring out how to work the material, so don't hate. Second of all, I don't have a great track record of finishing stories. That been said, I've got three chapters ready, and a motivation rivaling with people who actually get paid for writing. (Sigh, wouldn't that be lovely….?) Thirdly, I'm experimenting with several concepts. *spoiler alert* A small list:**

**I'm toying with the idea that for a grifter you should not use a name, as to refer to the fleeting nature of their identities. So I'm trying to describe the new grifter girl with only 'she.' I would use the same for Sophie, but that would get confusing, so there.**

**I'm having some fun with flash backs, flash forwards and just generally confusing the reader. If you get lost, it is generally not your fault, and you will find yourself later on. Hopefully. **

**This might seem like an AU story in the beginning. It's not. It's a job-fic. Which is why it's called 'the apprentice job.' (Lame title, I know…) **

**Than, one final thing: does anyone know what a 'grafter' is, or why Word keeps insisting that is what I mean when I write grifter? It's annoying, because it automatically corrects 'grifter'. So if it says grafter, which it should not, it should be grifter.**

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><p>Monologue.<p>

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><p>I am Andrea, or Loraly, or Samantha, or Susan or even Johnny. I'm notoriously insecure, and I'm obnoxiously arrogant, totally untrustworthy and a respected saint. I'm eighteen years old, or nineteen, or seventeen, and I've left behind me an army of victims waiting to reclaim what they once possessed. And tonight I am going to make another one.<p>

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><p>Tudetututuduu (phonetic writing of the leverage music theme.)<p>

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><p>"Come back here, you little brat! Get back here! Jonathan!" The woman, who stood screeching halfway on the stairs, seemed to be genuinely upset. "Mrs. Donohovan," said a young girl who appeared on the top of the stairs. "Mind telling me what you're doing?"<p>

"I am raising these kids, which is what I'm hired for, too. " The girl shook her head. "No, I get this is confusing, but you're most certainly not hired to raise these children. You are hired to be their legal guardian. To keep foster care off our backs and all that. To watch them when I'm gone. Any actual raising is my job."

"Well, the way you raise them, they're going to end up at the gallows. Or blown up, that is! You're just a kid yourself, young lady!"The young girl brushed off her green, deep-cleaved dress. "The gallows don't even exist anymore. What all this blown-up stuff is all about, I don't know. And I'm eighteen, so technically I am an adult. Either way, I have to go and earn your wage tonight, so I don't have time for this. If you would just stop screaming…"

"No, I will not stop screaming! That boy almos_t killed_ her! I'm all for liberty and all that, but that's just going too far." The girl took one look at her expression, then glanced at her watch and sighed. "On the other hand, I can come fashionably late, I suppose. Who almost killed whom?"

"Jonathan almost blew up Milly," Mrs. Donohovan replied. The girl smiled. "She deserves that," she said. "I must say Jonathan exercised a certain restraint in not_ actually_ blowing her up. After all, she _did _steal his bed. Only god know how. I'll deal with it when I get back." She smiled again. "Since he didn't actually blow her up, I think the situation looks a lot better than you making it out to be. Now, I have a date."

Mrs. Donohovan shook her head as the girl rushed out of the door on her high heels.


	2. Chapter 1

His name was Brad Makey and was one of the best trainers in town. He taught people to win races on horses. Or he taught horses to win races with a person on their back. She had forgotten the details. He was quite a charming man with a southern accent and a lot of confidence. He spoke continuously about how much he hated his boss, Bob Gibson, and how much he liked her.

She was lady Coralie Ruby Teakle, who went by Ruby. Her parents were British nobility and had entrusted her in the care of the American Society Club, where she spend her year in-between schools acquiring donations for orphanages in war-wrecked countries. She hadn't yet managed to get rid of her high-class British accent, was well-dressed and at the height of her beauty. And today she was going to convince dear Brad to support the poor children in Africa.

As she sat in her cab she memorized all these details, again and again. She could not drive yet, although she had been just over 17 when she left Britain, she had not yet been able to go for her driver's license. (She had originally thought that you had to be 18 in Britain, but thank god for Google! It were that kind of details that would get you caught.)

She _did not_ use words like "jolly," "merry" and "gay" to express happiness. When she had tried that at home it had not at all sounded convincing. She_ did_ chatter all night long about her home in England and how different the United States were. Tonight she'd drop how Americans always wished you a 'nice day' even though they wanted nothing more than have you share a train with a suicide bomber. You didn't see that anymore in England nowadays.

As the cab dropped her off in front of the hotel she was supposed to be staying at, she told herself to 'man up.' She sat down in the lobby and ordered herself a cup of tea. While she was sipping from it, she softly hummed the melody of 'uptown girl'.

Brad Makey found her sitting there ten minutes later. "Darlin'! If I'd known you' d wait for me downstairs I would have come earlier!" She shook her head and giggled. "Earlier than this? My dear Brad, if you were to come even earlier, we would have to make reservations an hour earlier than we did now! We have time to spare as it is."

Brad nodded. "I wished to show you something so I decided to pick you up a little early. Besides, I must confess that I just could not wait to see you again, darlin'." She giggled again. "You flatter me, my dear! You flatter me!"

After a short walk ("I'll call us a cab, darlin'." 'No, my dear, if we went there by foot you can tell me all about those charming little buildings we would pass.") they arrived in front of a building. "This would be my office, darlin'" Brad told her. "Your office, but dear, why would you have an office?" While she asked that question she knew something was wrong. Whatever it was that Brad did, it involved horses and having an office in the middle of the city would be rather impractical.

"I'll tell you when we're up there, my darlin'. I can show you all our equipment and…." "I'm not going up there." The British accent was suddenly gone. "Smart girl 101, don't go up in empty building with a man who isn't even supposed to have an office." Brad frowned. "Listen, my dear, I don't know what… Arrgh. " The man was shaking on the ground and moaning in pain.

"She tasered Eliot," a blonde girl reported while she appeared from the entrance. Next thing she knew she was on the ground with the blonde on her back and a taser gun pressed into her face.

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><p>Tudedudututuu (really bad impression of the leverage cliffhanger music)<p>

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><p>She groaned, as the guy hit her in the stomach. Then she turned the tables on him and attacked. They danced around each other, each throwing punches and taking them. Each groaning and huffing in perfect symphony. She hated being here and doing this, but she had very little choice in the matter. She didn't make the rules anymore, so she had to play by someone else's.<p>

He huffed as she kicked all the air out of him. A quick blow to the head and he went down. Finally. Around her she heard laughter and applause. She hadn't heard the yelling and whooping of the crowd until now. The fight had taken all her concentration. When she fought the world was completely lost on her. She didn't hear anything, see anything or feel anything beyond her opponent. It made fighting bearable, because she usually didn't notice that her whole body was aching before the fight was over. That was the sole reason that she was good. She had no strength to speak of, but her ability to focus on the fight allowed her to use strategies and make moves that hurt her, but gave her a tactical advantage.

When she was announced the winner of the match, she didn't feel any pain, yet. That would come when the adrenaline fell. She mechanically went through all the motions of macho-ism: roaring for more applause, holding up her arms, saying humiliating things about her opponent ,kissing her arm muscles and all the other small signs of victory. Her heart wasn't in it, but street fighting was a sport that was as much about reputation as it was about the actual fighting.

She told the guys she was going to get hammered with some of her fans, that she was going to get laid. Just like they always told her. Fighting was a sport that mainly attracted men, so she actually had more chance to get laid than they'd have ever had. But she wasn't trying to get laid, so she left the fight club alone. At the end of the street her ride was waiting for her.

The moment she sat down on the passenger seat her adrenaline levels crashed. She groaned out in pain. "Ouch," Hardison said in her ear. "Ouch," Sophie agreed. "Yeah," Nate said, "that ought to hurt." "Ouch," Parker mimicked, as always trying to seem normal by doing what all the 'normal' people did. And as always failing because of her timing.

From the drivers' seat Eliot shot her a concerned glance. When he saw that she was still in one piece, had no broken bones and wasn't bleeding more than what was normal after such a fight, he said: "She's okay." The aforementioned 'she', grinned. "Yeah, I'm just whining." Then she immediately followed that up with a groan. Grinning hurt. So did talking.

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><p>Tudutedutetuu tudu (Just a little bit more of the leverage theme music)<p>

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><p>Scene takes on grey shades.<p>

"Who are you? My dear, you certainly have me a little flustered!" She looked at the three people in the room. The blonde girl took her upstairs, then had gone to assist her fallen friend. Now , she was left staring at three strangers, who in return were staring at her. The woman grinned back at her. "You're pretty good," she said. "Shame you dropped the accent downstairs though."

The girl giggled. " Oh my, you heard that? I am quite certain that my parents would be shocked to hear how my English has degraded within just one year. That is why I try to hide it when I am around upper-class men and women such as yourself. See it as a common courtesy. " The woman smiled. "You _are _very good. That British accent is not half bad for a girl who has never been to England in her entire life."

She shifted in her chair, averting her eyes. "So what, I'm not British royalty, sue me! It's just a trick to win donations, okay?" When none of the other occupants of the room seemed to care, she shrugged her shoulders. "What is it that you want from me?"

"Joe Banks," The man with the curly hair said. "Name ring any bells?" She shrugged. "Yeah, I know the guy." He smiled a feral smile. "Well, when Hardison here went through his financial records he found some… irregularities." The man who was referred to as Hardison nodded. "You see, this guy Joe Banks paid a pretty large hospital bill a couple of years back. Which is weird, 'cause this guy had so many insurances that even getting a backrub for his sour shoulder muscles is covered. So I looked in to it and it turns out the patient that was in the hospital wasn't this Banks guy. It was you."

"Yea, now, Joe Banks has never paid any other hospital bill, beside yours. So we figured you must be pretty close ta him. Now you're going ta tell us what your relationship is with mister Banks." She hunched over a bit. "I worked for him."

The man frowned. "Yeah, well, now, I don't believe that. You see, the guy runs a street fighting club, and he terrorizes the neighborhood. His employees need to be able to do two things, and two things only: Bashing in heads, and looking scary while they do that. Why would he hire a little girl, when there is no shortage of thugs." The girl smiled sadly. "He said that he had enough fighters, but that they were all stupid. That what he needed was someone smart to take over control when he was away on business. He said that to have a good one, he had to create one. That's why he made me his apprentice."

"Apprentice," the man continued, looking as if he had won the lottery. "Well, that may just be what we need."

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><p>-Tudedudututuu (the leverage theme, promising a whole lot of trouble)<p> 


	3. Chapter 2

"What have you been doing?"Mrs. Donohovan asked, while she was disinfecting her facial wounds."Working," she said. "Of course," mrs. Donohovan said. "You come back home all beaten up and you claim that you've been working. No wonder that Guy is becoming so violent."

She rolled her eyes. "Guy is violent because he's training to become a hitter. He's supposed to practice." "I don't mind him practicing, it's just that I wish he would stop practicing on the other children. Poor kids are terrified of them, as they should be." She looked at the woman startled. "He's bullying, again? That boy just doesn't learn! I shall have a talk with him."

Mrs. Donohovan mumbled something. "I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?" "It is not enough. You're not home often enough to raise them. You should give me a little bit liberty here and then I'll…" The girl shook her head. "Not going to happen."

"It's just that Guy is beating kids up. And Milly stole Jonathan's new bed as well! They need to feel the hand of a stern instructor, not have funny talks with a big sister." She refused to acknowledge the criticism. "Milly stole Jonathan's new bed as well? She's got to stop doing that, I don't have the money to keep buying new beds! I would tell her that now she has to share hers with him, but I'm afraid that is the whole reason she keeps stealing his beds. She's got a bit of a crush on him. He on her as well. I think they need to learn a more appropriate way of communicating their feelings though."

Mrs. Donohovan snorted. "Stealing beds and blowing each other up as tokens of love…. I think they need to learn a whole lot more than just an appropriate way of communicating their feelings. There is something wrong with these children!" Her companion smiled. "That's why I love them, Mrs. Donohovan. That's why I love them."

Tudetudututu etc. (Some more theme music)

She was doing press-ups in Joe Banks' office. Joes' boots were lying on her back, so that he could feel how much press-ups she did without looking at her. She grumbled to herself. It was humiliating and also quite painful to have the boots dig into her back. The amount of submission this situation spoke of made her sick into her stomach.

"41, 42,…" Joe counted for her. "Up and down, kid. Up and down." Obedient as she was, she pressed up and down, up and down. "Good girl." If she had thought she could have gotten away with it, she would have grumbled a great amount of curses, aimed at Nate through her com. However, she thought Joe probably would hear it if she tried.

It may be for a good cause and all, but this was not what she had envisioned when Nate had told her that they would bring liberty and human rights to America. She had imagined arms, overthrowing government, hell, even protest marches, but she had not ever thought of press-ups. If she had, she probably wouldn't have agreed.

Of course, when Nate had specified that the liberty and human rights would only be distributed to one neighborhood, and that this neighborhood was at this moment repressed by Joe Banks, she should have realized. Then, when the whole 'apprentice' thing started to make sense, it was clear that some form of physical exercise would be part of the plan.

Now it was time to glance up at the desk. "Uh, mister Banks, did you know there is a microphone down here?" Banks cursed and dug his heels even further into her back. She groaned in pain. "What 'd ya say?" He asked. "There's microphone, underneath your desk. Did you know it was there?"

"No of course I dinn't know it was there! Why would I put a microphone in my own office?" His heels dug a little further in her back and she was pressed firmly against the floor. She groaned again. "To prevent theft by your employees?" She suggested tentatively. "I don't need no microphones to prevent theft. I'll kill anyone who steals from me. People don't want to die, so they don't steal. Simple as that."

She could see a major flaw in that strategy. After all, if Banks didn't take measures to uncover theft, than the chances of him killing the actual thief were rather thin. He'd probably kill someone anyway, but what would the thief care? She decided not to share these thoughts with Banks, considering the fact that if he pressed his heels any further she'd probably split in two.

"Shall I remove the microphone," she asked, in an attempt to manipulate him into removing his boots from her back. "No, ya won't do no such a thing! Ya stay away from that mike, ya hear that?" Her plan back-fired brilliantly, as he disproved her splitting in-two theory, by digging his boots even further into her back. She groaned in affirmative.

"I'm gonna get some smart kid to look at that. I wanna know who is listening to me. So, ya go and get me a smart kid. And stay away from that mike." She nodded, eager to be away from the heavy and painful boots. Even if it meant to go on the mission impossible, that finding a smart kid in this neighborhood, would be.

Tudetudutuu (I swear these impressions get worse every time I do them)

Hardison played the 'skittish computer nerd' part perfectly. The way he refused to meet Joe Banks eyes, the way he made sure to keep her in between the two of them at all times… Either the guy had unsuspected talents, or he was actually frightened to death.

"Hey man," the hacker said, while side-stepping around her. Joe looked slightly amused, but mostly just feral. "I gotta see that bug, I do, before I can tell you anything." He held up his hands to show that he was no threat. The gesture strangely reminded her of Animal Planet, where overpowered males held their head in such a way that it left the neck veins vulnerable. It just screamed that Hardison had accepted the fact that Banks could kill him on a whim.

"Well, then look at it!" Banks snarled. "I'm on it, I'm on it," Hardison said hastily. He moved awkwardly towards the desk, keeping his eye on Banks all the time.

Now it was key to distract Banks, so that Hardison could place a far less obvious bug. "Mister Banks," she said. "I think you're scaring him. Maybe we should give him some space?" It worked perfectly. Banks turned to her in all his blazing glory and started screaming at her. She wiped the spit from her face and was silently grateful that he had not resorted to physical violence yet.


End file.
